


Seraph's Mercy

by butterflyslinky



Series: The House of Wayne-El [6]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe, Background Tim Drake/Stephanie Brown - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Past Character Death, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: Damian has been brought to the manor, and has to navigate the challenges of so many brothers.





	Seraph's Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to subscribers who got about a million emails this morning; a general network error caused this to be posted about six times. I've deleted the repeats. Also, apologies for it saying "part 8" when it should say "part 5." Hopefully this will be fixed soon.

Precision. Precision was key to survival.

A knife poorly-aimed was worse than no knife at all. A blow to the wrong man would get you killed as fast as pausing.

Every move was made with precision. Every word said with intent. Every kill done with deadly accuracy.

He had to be the best. Had to live up to the training of his entire life. Had to be a worthy heir.

If he faltered.

If he missed.

If he hesitated.

If he made the wrong move.

His life would end.

He had always known it, had always practiced it. It pounded in his blood, screamed in his head, forced his every action.

His name was Damian al-Ghul.

And he would be perfect in every way.

*

“Six months,” Bruce said in anger. “Six months of looking and we can’t find any of them?!”

Jason sighed. “Look, I spent half my time with the League of Assassins unconscious and the other half insane. What do you want from me?”

“Something!” Bruce said. “There has to be some way to track them down!”

“Bruce,” Clark said patiently. “The League’a Assassins has been operatin’ fer centuries and no one’s ever caught ‘em. Y’cain’t expect us t’have gotten ‘em in six months.”

“I don’t need the entire League,” Bruce said. “I just need to find my son.” He looked at Clark with pleading eyes. “You know how…”

“Yes,” Clark said gently. “I know.” He turned to Barbara. “Got anythin’ new on the computers?”

She shook her head. “Reports here and there, but nothing solid. If we could just find Talia…”

“You won’t,” Bruce said. “Not unless she wants to be found, and she hasn’t wanted me to find her since…well, it’s been a while.”

Clark slipped his arms around his partner. “We’ll find him,” he said. “It’s jist gonna take some time…and if he’s survived seven years in that world, Ra’s al-Ghul must have reason t’keep him alive.”

Bruce nodded. “I know,” he said. “But…”

“We’re gonna save him,” Clark promised. “We’ll bring him home.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “It might just take some more extreme measures.”

*

Tim sat up on the roof of the Daily Planet with Conner, both of them staring out across the distance.

“They’ve been at it six months,” Tim said. “And nothing.”

Conner sighed. “I know…it’s…”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a minute.

“What do you think he’s like?” Conner asked.

Tim sighed. “Well…if he’s like Bruce, he might be…not awful. But since he grew up with the League of Assassins…”

Conner shuddered. “There’s a good chance he won’t see it as rescue when they find him.”

“If they find him,” Tim corrected. “I’ve tried to track Ra’s al-Ghul before…it’s impossible.”

“You’re the smartest of us,” Conner said. “If anyone can find him, you can.”

Tim sighed. “Please don’t,” he said. “Now I’m just going to feel bad if I fail.”

“Sorry,” Conner said. “Still…knowing there’s another one out there…”

“How many brothers do you think we actually have?” Tim asked.

Conner sighed. “God knows,” he said. “I mean…pretty sure Clark only had the four of us, but Bruce…”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “It was…well, I mean, I didn’t really know about it, but…Jason told me.”

“And that’s just since we came along,” Conner added. “There’s a full twelve years unaccounted for…for all we know, half of Gotham’s related to us.”

“And we’re going to expend resources finding just one,” Tim said.

Conner nudged Tim with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Another brother won’t change us…you’re still my baby brother, and I’m always going to look after you.”

Tim huffed at him. “I’m only a year younger than you,” he said. “And I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Oh yeah?” Conner pulled Tim into a headlock and ruffled his hair. “Little,” he teased.

Tim shoved at him, laughing. “One thing’s sure,” Tim said. “I hope Damian isn’t as much of a jerk as you.”

*

“I’m not sure about this.”

Bruce patted Dick’s shoulder reassuringly. “Talia will come running if she thinks someone is after me. And I’d rather not have her meet your mom right now.”

“It’s not like she could hurt him.”

“No, but I’d rather not have them fighting. Besides, I need someone who moves like an assassin.”

“Tim moves like an assassin.”

“And is fourteen. I also need her to believe that I’m in real danger.”

“Right.” Dick drew his eckisma sticks. “You really think she’ll come?”

“I just hope this phone number still works.” Bruce smiled. “Go!”

Dick attacked, moving as gracefully as ever, even though he was clearly pulling his strength. Bruce fought back, but poorly, making it clear to Dick this was just a show. They sparred for a few minutes, and Bruce allowed Dick to get a few good hits on him before he dodged away and ran, Dick in hot pursuit.

Bruce pulled out his phone, dialing an old unlisted number as he leaped off the roof and rolled. “Please pick up,” he muttered as he dashed through the streets, Dick carefully keeping a few steps behind.

It took a good minute before there was an answer. “What do you want?”

“Talia!” Bruce gasped. “You need to help me…your father’s sent another one of his goons after me!”

“What?!”

“Please!” Dick caught him in a hard tackle, taking him to the ground and delivering a few hits that hurt probably more than he intended.

“Why not call your precious Superman?” The phone was knocked away, skittering across the sidewalk so Bruce could barely hear her.

“Talia…” Bruce choked as Dick dug a knee into his sternum. “I…”

There was no answer as the phone disconnected.

Dick got off Bruce immediately. “Sorry,” he said.

“Just a few bruises,” Bruce said. “Could be worse.”

“Think it worked?”

“She at least knows I want to talk to her.” Bruce rubbed at his chest. “For someone who can ignore gravity, you weigh a lot.”

“Sorry,” Dick repeated. “Guess I just have a lot of pent-up aggression.”

Bruce sighed. Six months since the fight, and while things were generally better, they still hadn’t talked through all of their problems, the urgency of finding Damian overruling everything else. “Dicky…”

“I know.”

“I didn’t…”

“I know.”

“We aren’t…”

“I know.”

“I love him.”

“I know.”

Bruce nodded. “Good talk.”

Dick half-smiled and cocked his head. “She’s coming.”

Bruce moved into position in the shadows, Dick on the other side of the street. A moment later, Talia al-Ghul appeared seemingly out of nowhere, looking almost concerned. Bruce felt the barest surge of affection for her before Dick leaped out, too fast to be seen before he caught Talia in a hold from behind.

She struggled for a moment before Bruce stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, Talia,” he said.

She glared at him. “Another trick?”

“You know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent. That just seemed like the fastest way to get your attention.”

“Would you call off your attack dog?”

“And have you run off again?”

She tsked at him. “What do you want?”

“Jason’s come home…don’t bother trying to get him back, he’s very well-guarded and doesn’t want to see you again. But he told me you have a son…my son.”

“Damian is very well looked after.”

“By the League of Assassins? How many people has he already killed for your father?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m getting tired of people not telling me about my children,” Bruce said. “And I’m really tired of them being left in dangerous and unstable situations when I can offer better.”

She looked down, her jaw tight. “My father won’t give up his heir,” she said.

“I know, but…”

“You want me to steal him? Bring him to you? Take him away from everything he’s ever known?”

“Your world is no place for a child,” Bruce said. “He’ll have a better life in Gotham. He’ll be safe…there are plenty of people to keep Ra’s away from him. He could be normal.”

Talia laughed hollowly. “I may not be an expert, but I don’t think there’s anything normal about growing up with a father who dresses up as a bat to fight criminals and fuck aliens.”

“Better than growing up as a weapon,” Bruce growled. “You know he’d be better off.”

She glared at him, but he could see it in her eyes. That desire for Damian to be happy.

“Talia…if you love him…if you ever loved me…let him go.”

She glared for another second before she twisted, elbowing Dick sharply. He let go of her, more shocked than hurt, and she dashed off. Dick made to follow her, but Bruce shook his head.

“The idea’s in her head now,” he said. “And I know she wants Damian to be safe…I’ve known her too long not to recognize it. She’ll come around to it…or just bring him to me on a whim.”

Dick sighed. “She has a point, you know,” he said. “There really isn’t anything normal about our family.”

“I know.” They headed back toward the car. “Did you ever feel unsafe with me?”

“No,” Dick said. “You always loved me…and even when I got myself into trouble, I knew you or Papa would save me. But that was just me. I’m sure Jason and Conner feel differently.”

Bruce sighed. “I know I fucked up with both of them,” he said. “But I’m trying to do better…with them, with Tim, with Jon…and I want to do better with Damian.”

“I know,” Dick said. “But considering where he’s coming from, it may be…difficult to introduce him into a more stable place.”

“Are you saying I should leave him there?”

“No, of course not. I’m just asking if you’re really equipped to handle a child like him…yeah, you and Papa are better now, but you’re not perfect, plus you’ve got three teenagers and another little kid to take care of. And you can’t just push any of them off on me or Kara or Alfred.”

“I know, Dick. Do you really think I haven’t thought about all of this in the last six months? Believe me…if Clark or I didn’t think we could handle it, we’d be making other arrangements for Damian.”

Dick nodded. “All right…if you’re sure.”

Bruce smiled slightly. “When did you grow up so much?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “Guess that just happens when enough people let you down.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s not just you.”

“No…but I hope it never is again.”

*

“Damian.”

A hiss, a breath, as natural as his own heartbeat, familiar from the day he was born.

“Get up. We’re going.”

He obeyed her, as he always had. No question, no hesitation. He simply got out of bed and followed her.

They left the sanctum, slipping out a side door. Then they walked, long and far. Damian grew tired quickly, his legs too short to keep up with his mother’s stride, even as she took his hand and led him along. He didn’t complain, didn’t ask questions. He would endure, as he had been trained.

_You must endure._

At last it was too much and he stumbled. Mother paused and then, to Damian’s shock, picked him up. “Almost there,” she said, sounding almost sad.

Damian forced himself to stay awake as Mother carried him down one last street and up to the door of a very large house. She set him down—at the age of barely eight, he was really too big for her to carry anyway. He swayed on his feet, looking to her for instruction. She looked back for a long moment, and maybe it was his exhaustion, but Damian could have sworn there were tears in her eyes.

“Damian,” she said. “Do you remember what I told you about your father?”

He nodded.

“This is where he lives…where you’re going to live now.” She reached out and hugged him for the first time that he could remember. He didn’t hug back, too cold and tired and confused to react, even as she pressed a small knife into his hand. “For protection,” she sais. “Just in case…stay here,” she said. “Stay here and be good.”

Damian nodded, numb and shocked. She let go of him and rang the bell. Damian could hear it echoing through the house.

His mother was gone before it had finished chiming. Damian had barely noticed her absence before the door opened. He swayed, eyes closing, hearing someone cry out in shock as he pitched forward. A pair of thin but strong arms caught him as he collapsed. He heard someone above him shout, “Master Bruce!” before sleep took him.

*

Bruce stared at the tiny figure that Alfred had carried up to a spare bedroom and put into bed. Damian—it had to be Damian, who else would it be?—was smaller than he had expected, thinner and more scarred than he had hoped. What kind of life had he been leading with the League of Assassins? What had made him leave with nothing but the clothes on his back and a knife in his hand and pass out on his butler at four in the morning?

What the hell was Bruce going to do when he woke up?

Sure, he wanted Damian here, had fought for months to get him, but he didn’t have much of a plan for when he actually had him. He had assumed that he would get some warning, some sign to prepare.

There was a soft cough behind him. Bruce smiled as Clark came in and stood next to him, looking down at Damian. “Alfred told me he arrived this mornin’,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Poor little guy’s exhausted. Passed out as soon as Alfred opened the door.”

Clark hummed in sympathy. “Best let him sleep,” he said. “We can decide what t’do next once he wakes up…introduce him t’his brothers, start integratin’ him into the family…”

Bruce nodded. He bent over and pressed a kiss to Damian’s forehead. After a moment’s hesitation, Clark did as well.

*

Light.

Damian blinked as it hit him. His room was never this bright, his bed never this soft.

It took a moment for his instincts to kick in. Damian struggled out from under the blankets, soft and warm and suffocating, and rolled off the bed, landing in a crouch, looking around. The room was big, clean, almost sterile in how tasteful it was, like the hotels where the targets often met their ends. Damian kept his breathing slow and quiet.

Where was he? And why?

The night before starting coming back in a haze. His mother taking him, bringing him here, leaving him on the doorstep. Her words echoed in his head.

_Stay here and be good._

This was his father’s house. Damian didn’t know why he was here or what he was supposed to do, only that Mother had left. Not that she had been especially present before, but for some reason Damian’s chest was tight and he had to clamp down on the tears threatening to escape.

_No crying. Your enemies cannot see your weakness._

There was a knock on the door. Damian jerked and stood up, coiled to fight. “ _Enter_ ,” he called in Arabic, as he always had.

The door opened and a man came in. He was tall and strong, with blue eyes starting to crease with age. He looked at Damian with an odd expression on his face. It was so…emotional. Not open, like most of the people Damian had seen, but also not the cold masks all the assassins wore.

“Good morning,” the man said, the English sharp on Damian’s ears.

Damian said nothing, watching. Calculating. If he sprang now, his target wouldn’t have time to react, not this pale middle-aged man who wore silk this early in the day.

Except that Damian wasn’t sure what his plan was next. He could escape and go back…but it had taken all night to walk here at his mother’s pace. And Mother told him to stay, like a dog.

The man was still looking at him, that bewildering expression still on his face. It wasn’t sadness or joy, it wasn’t fear or anger. Damian couldn’t place it. It was soft, and…kind. He had only ever seen anything like it from his mother, in brief flashes when Grandfather wasn’t watching.

“Did you sleep well?” the man asked.

Damian only watched him, trying to decide what to do. Attack? Run? Answer him?

The man sighed. “So…I know this is probably strange for you…” He broke off. “My name is Bruce Wayne,” he said. “I’m your father, but…you don’t have to call me Dad if you don’t want to…you can, of course, I just don’t know if you’d be comfortable since we’ve only just met…”

Damian had suspected it. He only stared at Bruce Wayne—Father—waiting for him to stop babbling.

Father shook himself. “Your brothers are eager to meet you,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Damian hesitated. What brothers? And could he admit weakness, even to his father?

Father didn’t seem to mind the silence. “Come on,” he said. “Alfred has breakfast ready.”

He turned and left the room. After a moment, Damian followed. He _was_ hungry. And going down would give him a better idea of what was coming next.

Father led him down to the kitchen. It was large and bright and crowded, more than Grandfather’s dining room. Or maybe it only seemed that way because everyone here was loud and moving, not seated silent and polite like all of Grandfather’s contacts. These people were all so active that it took Damian far too long to count them and assess their threat levels.

Nine people, from the aging butler delivering plates to the table ( _do not underestimate the servants, no matter their age_ ) to a tiny child in a booster seat clutching his brightly-colored sippy cut ( _children do not know how to fight but do not know how to yield_ ). There were two boys in their early teens, both chattering away in the slightly too-loud way all teenagers do ( _young, rash, believe they’re invincible, easy to kill, but easy to lose to_ ). Something in their eyes was similar, though one was much larger than the other. Three young adults, one man and two women ( _one in a wheelchair, weak, other two are strong and will protect the others_ ). One grown man, about Father’s age, looking after the child ( _a true threat, will not allow harm to the child until he has already died_ ).

And Todd, doing his best to fade into the background. Damian did not have to assess him—of all the people in the room, Jason Todd was the one Damian did not want to fight.

_Not afraid. Just reasonably cautious._

They all looked up as Father led Damian in. All of them were looking at Damian, not afraid, merely curious.

“Everyone,” Father said. “This is Damian.”

Damian nodded to them, solemn and still calculating.

“Damian, your brothers, Dick, Conner, Tim, and Jon…Dick’s fiancée Barbara Gordon, Kara Danvers, Jason you know, Alfred Pennyworth, my butler…and Clark Kent, your…” Bruce struggled. “Stepfather, I suppose.”

“Please t’meet you, Damian,” Clark Kent said. “We’re real glad yer here.”

Damian swallowed, realizing he was supposed to say something. “I am gratified by your hospitality, Mr. Kent,” he said.

Kent laughed. “Ain’t my hospitality,” he said. “And it ain’t hospitality when…when it’s gonna be yer home.”

Damian’s fist clenched. This wasn’t home. This was pity.

“I do not require charity,” he said.

“We know that,” Father said. He and Kent exchanged a look. “We want you to be part of our family.”

Damian looked around the room. His brothers were watching him with varying degrees of consternation. Danvers and Gordon both looked like they wanted to cry. Todd’s face was as unreadable as ever.

Damian’s eyes fell on the smallest of them. Jon couldn’t have been more than four years old, watching him with wide blue eyes that were a bit too sharp—eyes that Damian recognized in his other brothers, in Kent. Damian stared into Jon’s eyes, suddenly mesmerized.

Jon cocked his head a little before he held out his sippy cup to Damian. Damian eyed it suspiciously, but Jon had been drinking from it, so it wasn’t poisoned. Slowly, Damian reached out and took it. Jon smiled in encouragement and Damian took a sip, the sweetness of the apple juice almost gagging him.

Jon’s smile grew. Damian handed the cup back and took the seat next to Jon, ignoring the fact that it already had a booster on it, obviously meant for him.

Father looked at him with that strange, soft expression again. “Would you like breakfast?” he asked.

Slowly, Damian nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I would like breakfast.”

*

Suddenly having so many brothers was exhausting. Just one would have been bad enough, but five was…

Well, Damian wouldn’t call it terrible, but it was quite an adjustment.

His brothers weren’t awful in and of themselves. Indeed, all of them seemed to be going out of their way to be nice to him. It was all very strange—Damian kept expecting them to test him, to fight him and teach him his place in the new order. Kindness never came without expectation of something. Being nice was never more than a trick to get his guard down.

Damian spent the first few days of living at Wayne manor braced for…something. He didn’t know what, only that at any second, it would flip, Father would remind him of his place, his brothers would turn on him and deliver the pain he’d learned to deal with all his life.

_This will make you strong. Pain now will erase the pain later._

Yet as time passed, nothing changed. His father continued to treat him with the same concern and solicitude he showed the others, his brothers continued to be kind to him. It wasn’t the overdone kindness Grandfather occasionally showed. This was more awkward, more natural. Their smiles were more relaxed, their words gentler.

Damian had no idea what to make of it, what to do with them, how he fit into their family. It would have been easier if he could believe it was all just a trick, or if they were cruel or indifferent to him. He was used to that, was trained for that. He was coiled to fight at any moment, yet none of his brothers seemed interested in fighting him, even when he goaded them, and he didn’t dare ask if they would just like to spar. Even Todd, always angry and itching for blood during his time with the League, didn’t want to train with him.

“Why?” Damian finally demanded a week after he’d arrived. “Why do none of them fight?”

“Bruce would be pissed if any of us hurt you,” Todd explained. “And all of us could, easily, without meaning to.”

“I trained with the best fighters in the world.”

“You trained with a few of the best fighters in the world, and you’re eight years old.”

“And I am supposed to believe these pretty rich boys who do not have so much as a callous on their hands would beat me?”

Todd looked like he wanted to laugh. “Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want to mess with any of them.”

“Even the baby?”

“Especially the baby. Clark would destroy anyone who even thought about hurting Jon. So would Kara, and she’s scarier than Clark.”

“She is smaller and younger than him.”

“True. But Clark knows when to stop. Kara doesn’t.”

Damian cocked his head. “Are you afraid of her?”

“Yes,” Todd said. “But it’s the good kind of afraid.”

“Fear is weakness.”

“No,” Todd said. “Fear is healthy.”

“I am not afraid of my brothers.”

“Well, I am,” Todd said. “And you should be.”

*

Damian didn’t understand what Todd meant until a few days later. The circus was in town and Tim and Conner had declared they were kidnapping Damian and Jon for the day. Damian was surprised that Father and Kent allowed it—surely these hooligans were not to be trusted with care of a child as tiny as Jon? Damian agreed to go along mostly to protect the baby.

It was so strange to just…walk around the fairgrounds with his brothers. Damian’s eyes were always darting around, looking for hidden threats. The others were all so carefree, not even seeming aware of anything else. Conner carried Jon on his hip and Tim walked on Damian’s other side—Damian had furiously rebuffed the attempts to hold hands early on.

Everything was so bright, so loud. It would be all too easy for something to happen, for some threat to appear…

But for most of the day, it was just…normal. Slowly, Damian began to relax, just following his brothers around the grounds, to the various attractions. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was almost…

He didn’t have a word for it. The realization hit him hard, that he didn’t know how to describe the experience. He stopped, breathing slightly hard, trying to place it. His brothers, occupied with Jon pointing at something, didn’t seem to notice.

Damian stood still, struggling. What was it that they were doing here? Why did he feel so…light? So strangely present in the moment? So…so…exhilarated?

Before Damian could put his finger on it, though, someone grabbed him from behind. He turned, the light feeling gone as his training kicked in and he threw a punch. His opponent—he couldn’t quite see him—was too large, clung too tight, and growled as he hit back. Damian kicked and struggled, putting up a fuss—

And then Tim was there. Damian hadn’t even seen him before Tim had thrown a punch that knocked the man down. He let go of Damian at once as he fell, unconscious.

Damian stared. Tim was tiny for his age, short and thin and pale. He looked like he would fall over if someone sneezed on him, and yet…

Conner came hurrying over, Jon still in his arms. “Dami!” Conner said. “Are you okay?”

Damian swallowed and nodded. “I am unharmed.”

Conner glanced between Tim and the fallen man. “You didn’t remember to pull your punch, did you?” he asked.

“Dami was in trouble,” Tim said. “I didn’t have time to think about…everything.”

Damian was still staring at Tim. Conner looked down at him and sighed. “We’d better go home,” he said. “Before Dad hears about this about blows a gasket.”

Tim nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

Jon was looking a bit sad, but also rather sleepy. Conner shook his head. “It’s fine, Tim,” he said. “It’s getting late anyway…and it’s probably better to leave before someone else tries to take him.”

The sun was starting to set. They left the fairgrounds and were a few blocks away when Conner glanced around. “Think it’s safe now?”

Tim paused, an intent look on his face. “No one following,” he said. “Damian, I’m going to pick you up now.”

“Why…” Damian barely had time to ask before Tim had lifted him easily. Before Damian knew how to process it, they were flying, high above the ground. Conner flew up next to them, still clutching Jon close, the younger boy already asleep.

Damian stared at the ground and clutched Tim’s neck, shocked. “How?” he shouted as they flew over the city.

Conner and Tim exchanged a look. “You know who Dad is?” Tim asked.

“He is Batman.”

“Right,” Conner said. “And Papa…Clark…he’s Superman.”

“We’re their children,” Tim added. “Biologically…and we inherited most of Superman’s powers.”

Damian tried to process that. “But they are both male.”

“Technically,” Conner said. “Look, I’m not going to get into it with you, but…Kryptonians are different. Papa’s different…we’re different.”

Damian nodded. “And you are…?”

“Robin and Superboy,” Tim said. “At least for now…I suppose once I’ve outgrown being Robin, that will be your job.”

Damian blinked. “But…I am human,” he said.

“So is Dad,” Conner said. “And Jason, and Barbara…doesn’t stop them.”

Damian fell silent, thinking very, very hard.

They landed and Damian didn’t even object to Tim carrying him inside. Father and Kent were in the kitchen, talking, though they both looked up as the boys came in.

“Did you have fun?” Father asked.

Damian blinked. Fun…it was a word he hadn’t heard before. Was that what it was, to feel so joyful at doing something?

“Mostly,” Tim said. “Someone tried to grab Dami, but…”

“Tim knocked him down,” Conner finished. “Maybe too hard.”

Kent closed his eyes, his lips moving as he counted to ten. Father frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I am not hurt,” Damian said. “Timothy is an adequate fighter.”

“I would hope he’s a bit more than adequate,” Father said.

Tim scowled. “Thanks, Dad.”

Kent shook his head. “Sounds like a long day,” he said. “All y’all’d better git t’sleep.”

“But I have patrol tonight,” Tim whined. “And we don’t need to sleep!”

“You do need to sleep,” Father said. “And I can handle it myself tonight.”

“I’ll take backup if I’m needed,” Kent said. “Bed.”

Conner and Tim both sighed before carrying the younger boys upstairs. Tim took Damian to his room and set him on the bed. “Did you have a good time?” Tim asked.

Damian hesitated, then nodded. “It was…” He struggled for the word again. “Was that…fun?”

Tim blinked. “Well…yeah,” he said. “At least…I hope so.”

“I do not know,” Damian said. “But I…liked it.”

Tim’s eyes were wet, but then he wrapped his arms around Damian. “I’m glad,” he said.

Damian hesitated, then for the first time in his life, he wound his arms around another person and hugged back.

*

Damian sat up with a gasp. After the excitement of the day, he had fallen asleep very quickly, but now he was awake again, feeling very troubled, vague shadows tightening around his chest. It took a long moment before Damian even realized he was crying, tears running down his face faster than he could try to blink them away.

He shuddered, trying to calm himself, trying to rid himself of the fear grasping his mind. It would only slow him down, let his father know he was weak, show the aliens around him just how pathetically human he was. He breathed as deep as he could, trying to keep his panic from rising. Grandfather had always said that the nightmares were the sign of a fragile mind, that he had to keep his guard up even in sleep, that he was weak for letting mere thoughts frighten him.

It wasn’t working. Damian’s breath grew faster as his mind supplied ideas of what Father would do if he knew about this. Hit him to teach him not to fear pain? Lock him away to hide his weakness? Force him to stay awake for days to keep the nightmares from happening?

Each possibility only made the fear worse, the tears thicker, his breath shorter. He couldn’t stop, could barely breathe at all. He wanted to scream, to fight, but he forced himself to stay quiet, hoping no one would hear the little gasps and sobs that escaped involuntarily…

The door opened and the light clicked on. Damian barely turned, hardly even realizing there was someone there until he was wrapped in a pair of strong arms and pressed against hard black armor.

“Damian.” Father’s voice was gentle, but commanding. “Can you hear me?”

Damian gasped a bit, but managed to nod against Father’s chest.

“Breathe with me.”

Damian struggled, the rise and fall of his father’s chest so slow, so difficult to even feel past his panic. After a few minutes, though, Damian managed to match his breaths to his father’s, and a few minutes after that, he was coming back to awareness.

“With me?”

Slowly, Damian nodded and pulled back a bit. Father was in his costume, the cowl pulled off, and he didn’t look angry at all, only concerned.

“What happened?” Father asked, voice still gentle.

Damian was still shaking. “I…I do not know.”

“A nightmare?”

Damian swallowed, feeling so vulnerable in that moment. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not hurt me…it will not happen again.”

Father’s expression went from worried to angry in a moment. “Did your grandfather punish you for having nightmares?!”

“They show weakness in my mind,” Damian said. “And I am crying…I should not cry.”

Father pulled him into a tight embrace. In his exhaustion, Damian simply melted into it, breathing in the smell of Kevlar and leather and sweat and finally allowing himself to relax. Father would never hurt him. Father was too soft to punish him.

Damian heard a soft shuffling sound from the doorway. He shifted and saw Jon standing there, a stuffed rabbit clutched in his arms. Father turned as well, quirking an eyebrow.

“I heard Dami cry,” Jon said. “And I wanna help.”

Damian cringed at the idea that the baby had heard him. Then again, almost everyone in the house had supersenses—now that he could think properly, Damian was a bit surprised that no one else had burst in to comfort him.

“Damian just had a bad dream,” Father said. “You can go back to sleep, Jon.”

Jon ignored him, stepping further into the room. “When I have bad dreams, I stay with Kara,” he said. “Do you want me to stay so you don’t get scared again?”

Damian stared, wondering how having the baby in the room would make him less scared. Father looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s…very nice of you,” Father said.

Jon seemed to take that as approval, because he went to the bed and climbed up, hugging Damian, his rabbit squashed between them.

Father half-smiled and stood up. “You know where to find me,” he said. “Good night, boys.” He kissed them both on the forehead and left the room.

Damian stared at Jon for a moment before he lay down again. Jon squirmed up next to him, still hugging him. Damian considered pushing him away, but it did feel nice, and Jon was small enough that it didn’t make much difference to have him there. Damian curled up and hugged Jon back. Jon made a happy sound and Damian slowly drifted back to sleep. It was ridiculous, weak, vulnerable…

But somehow, having Jon next to him, a small but very present warmth, Damian no longer felt afraid.

*

“Dami?”

Damian looked up from his book, not sighing because it always made Jon pouty and that made Damian’s stomach form knots. “Yes?”

“Do you wanna play with me and Bunbun?” Jon was clutching his stuffed rabbit and staring at Damian with wide eyes.

Damian blinked. “Play?” he repeated.

“Yeah!” Jon grinned. “We can pretend to be like Dicky and Conner and Timmy and be superheroes and fight all the bad guys and save the cit-i-zens!” He pronounced the last word very carefully, having obviously practiced it a lot.

“Why would we do that?” Damian asked.

“Cause it’s cool!” Jon said. He ran around the room, slower than normal. “And we can practice for when we’re big enough to be Robin and Superboy!”

Damian frowned a bit, but he could see the logic in a training simulation. At any rate, it might get Jon’s energy levels down a little. “Fine,” he said. “Where shall we hold the training?”

“We should go outside,” Jon decided. “Daddy gets grumpy if we run around the house too much.” He grabbed Damian’s hand and pulled him up. “But we need our costumes first!”

He dragged Damian out of the parlor and into another large room. Damian knew it was called the playroom, though he hadn’t been in there very much. It was full of a number of toys and games, all pointless to Damian’s eyes. Jon pulled him over to a large chest full of old clothes and started rummaging through it, coming up with a red towel and an old shirt with an S on it. Damian poked through it, a bit listless.

“And what are you two up to?”

Damian turned and saw Dick leaning in the doorway, a smile playing around his mouth. “We are going to engage in a training simulation,” Damian said.

Jon rolled his eyes. “We’re playing superheroes and I’m gonna be Superboy cause Conner is the best, I mean you’re also the best but I really wanna be Superboy someday, and Damian will be…” He glanced at Damian suddenly.

“I will be practicing as Robin,” Damian said. He knew the name would fall to him eventually; it had passed through all his brothers, so it was logical.

“Well,” Dick said. “I don’t think we have a Robin costume in there.” He studied Damian for a moment before his grin widened. “Wait here,” he said.

A few minutes later, Dick returned with a tunic, shorts and cape in hand. “I think you’re big enough for this,” he said.

Damian stared at it. “What is that?” he asked, hiding his disgust as best as he could.

“This was my Robin costume,” Dick said. “When I first started…I was a bit older than you are, but you’re taller than I was then, so…” He held it out. “It might as well be yours for training.”

“It is impractical for combat,” Damian said.

“Not when you’re mostly invulnerable,” Dick said. “And…” He swallowed. “It was special to me…part of who I was then.”

Damian blinked, suddenly feeling guilty for sneering at it. Slowly, he reached out and took the offered costume. “I will return,” he said to Jon, and went back to his own room to change.

The costume fit him shockingly well. Damian looked in the mirror, face bare, and blinked. His skin was darker, his eyes weren’t blue—but he realized that he did look an awful lot like the pictures of Robin he’d seen around the Batcave when he’d been allowed to visit. He raised the domino mask and put it over his eyes, and saw Robin, as Robin was meant to be. He stood straight. The outfit was ridiculous, but he felt…powerful. Like someone to be proud of.

He stepped out of his room and went back to the playroom, cape swishing behind him. Jon was waiting, a too-big Superboy shirt hanging to his knees and the red towel tied around his neck. Dick was still there, and his smile was so wide that Damian’s heart felt light.

“Picture before you two go save the world,” Dick said, pulling out his phone. Damian sighed but allowed Jon to hug him while Dick snapped the photo. “Perfect. Be careful!”

“We will!” Jon called.

“I will try not to harm your clothing,” Damian said.

“It’s survived worse,” Dick promised.

Jon grabbed Damian’s hand and dragged him downstairs and outside. Jon put his precious rabbit under a tree and then darted away. Damian followed.

“What is our mission objective?” Damian asked.

“The bad guys have captured Bunbun!” Jon whispered, as though there were any actual bad guys to hear them. “And we need to save him!”

Damian rolled his eyes behind his mask. “Why would we save a stuffed rabbit?” he asked.

Jon scowled at him. “Because the bad guys might hurt him!” he said, as though it were obvious.

Damian sighed. “Fine. How do we rescue him?”

“We fight the bad guys!” Jon’s smile was back. “Come on!” He darted out, flying a bit and throwing punches at imaginary opponents. Damian followed, unsure of what he was swinging at. He followed Jon’s movements, soon lapsing into the rhythms and movements he had learned from the League, thought it was different without a weapon in his hand—while Father had allowed him to keep the knife Mother had left with him, he very sternly told Damian he was not to have it out unless he was under a real attack.

They kept it up for quite a while, the imaginary bad guys seeming to grow more and more in number until Jon zoomed toward the tree, Damian behind him.

Just as they reached it, though, Jason dropped out of the tree, landing in front of them, his helmet on. “Well, well, well,” he growled. “If it isn’t Robin and Superboy!”

Jon barely hid his smile. “Unhand him, Red Hood!” he said.

“Never!” Jason said. “Not unless you defeat me and my, uh…” He paused. “Rooty tooty point and shooties.”

Damian buried his face in his hands, wondering why everyone became a complete idiot when confronted by Jon smiling.

“Oh yeah?” Jon asked. “Well, we have, uh…” He glanced at Damian.

“Skills honed by a lifetime of training and practice,” Damian said in a deadpan tone.

“Yeah!”

“You’ll never defeat me!” Jason declared. He moved forward and caught Jon up in a hold, tickling him. Jon shrieked with laughter.

“Robin!” he giggled. “Help!”

Damian sighed a bit. Clearly no one was going to take this seriously. He debated for a moment—Jon had said it was play. He charged forward, taking advantage of Jason’s distraction to tackle him to the ground. Jason yelped and dropped Jon, who immediately joined Damian in a tickle attack of their own. Jason was laughing, and soon Damian found he was laughing as well—laughing harder than he ever had in his life.

After several minutes, Jason managed to catch his breath. “Noooo! I’ve been defeated!” He pushed up onto his elbows. “Curses!”

Jon was laughing as he stopped the attack and vaulted over Jason’s head to retrieve his bunny. Damian ceased as well, falling back to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Jason asked, pulling off his helmet.

“Yes,” Damian said. “I am…” He blinked suddenly. “Happy.”

To his intense surprise, Jason wrapped him up in a hug. “Good,” he said.

Jon stumbled back over to them, his energy wearing off. He cuddled up next to Damian, hugging him as well. “Thank you, Robin,” he said.

Damian wrapped his arm around Jon. “Of course, Superboy,” he said softly.

And for a moment, he could believe that this was real.

*

As time went on, Damian found himself growing more comfortable in the household. Sure, it was different from the life he had led with Mother and Grandfather, but he found that it was better. He could be happy, more relaxed in this place. His brothers continued to be kind to him, especially Jon, who had decided they were going to be best friends.

It was Jon’s attachment more than anything that made Father and Kent decide that Damian would be going to Gotham Academy with his brothers in the fall.

There had apparently been quite a lot of discussion about this, which Jon relayed to Damian as he listened through the walls. Kent felt that Damian needed to go out into the world and learn to socialize, while Father was concerned that Damian’s time in the League of Assassins might make it difficult for him to acclimate. Damian was mostly miffed that he had not been included in the conversation.

But in the end, it was just as well. While Damian knew, intellectually, that Jon did not need his protection, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for his well-being. And if going to school with normal people was the price he had to pay to keep an eye on his baby brother, well, he would put up with it.

Father was still concerned as he brought Damian his uniform.

“You cannot physically fight anyone,” he said. “No matter what they say or do. You will get into trouble, and I cannot have any sort of attention drawn to us.”

Damian nodded. “Yes, Father.”

“Your brothers are all in the same building,” Father continued. “I don’t know which grade they’re going to start you in—you’ll be going in for a test first thing. Please don’t feel discouraged if any of your scores are low, I know that you haven’t had much formal education.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Alfred will be taking you all in and picking you up. Clark will be here after school most days.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” Father kissed Damian’s forehead. “Try to make new friends. That is the entire purpose of sending you to school rather than educating you here at home.”

“Aren’t my brothers enough?”

“Clark feels—and I don’t disagree—that you would benefit from having friends your own age and who don’t live in this house. Besides, there’s no one here during the day except for Alfred and Jason, and Jason sleeps most of the day. We agreed that isolating you for most of your life would be detrimental to your development.”

Damian nodded. “I will do my best,” he said. “But…” He paused, struggling. Was it weakness? Would Father think less of him? “I have not been trained to form non-familial attachments,” he finished.

“I know,” Father said. “It was difficult for me as well…I don’t think I ever had a true friend until I was eighteen. But…well, you know how to act with Jon. It’s like that, only…you’re not starting as brothers.”

Damian swallowed. “Jon wanted to play with me.”

“And maybe some of the other little boys and girls will as well,” Father said. “Now get dressed…Clark is going to want an absurd number of pictures and it’s best to humor him.”

Father stood to leave. Damian hesitated. “Father?”

“Yes?”

“When you did make a friend…what happened?”

Father half-smiled. “We have six children,” he said. “So I guess it worked out pretty well.”

*

Damian tried to keep his head down as he entered Gotham Academy.

Jon bounced along next to him, looking very excited. Tim and Conner were herding them through the teeming mass of students. They reached a room where several children of varying ages were sitting down. Most of them were about Jon’s age, though a few were older.

“Right, this is where you’ll be tested and placed,” Conner said. He lowered his voice. “Jon, don’t write out your entire life story from the moment of birth, teachers find that a bit suspicious. Damian, don’t talk about killing people, we don’t want social services up our butts.”

“And try not to kill anyone here,” Tim added. “I know people are annoying, but again, social services. And Jon, when you get to PE, remember to run slow and not lift anything bigger than you are.”

“I know!” Jon said.

“Okay.” Tim took Jon’s hand and guided him into the room. Damian rebuffed Conner’s offer and followed.

There was an elderly teacher at the front of the room. She looked up, unimpressed as Tim and Conner took their brothers up.

“More of you?” she asked.

“You can’t ever have enough of us,” Conner said easily, clearly unruffled. “Damian and Jon Kent-Wayne.”

The teacher looked over her list. “Seat them at the front,” she said. “I know all you Kent boys have horrible eyesight.”

Damian tsked, but followed Jon to seats near the front of the room. Tim hugged them both. “Be good,” he said. “We’ll see you after school.”

Tim and Conner left the room. Damian glanced at Jon, who was barely keeping still, before he looked around the room, assessing the other children. Most of them were smaller than him, and he was fairly certain all of them were what Father deemed “normal,” meaning their danger level was minimal. All of them looked fairly frightened, and a few were even sniffling.

The elderly teacher did not seem to pose a threat, either. She was frail, and while her face was strict, she didn’t seem dangerous. Damian forced himself to relax slightly. There was unlikely to be any danger here, and if there was, he trusted that Tim and Conner would hear and be there in a second to help.

After a few minutes, all the desks were filled and the teacher had stood up. “Good morning, students,” she said. “I am Ms. Wilson, and I will be administrating your placement tests. By the end of the week, you will all be assigned to your grade levels. You will be filling in the bubbles for the correct answers. Do not worry about getting every question correct—simply do your best so we know what level to start you at. Please take out your pencils.”

Damian took the pencil box Kent had given him out of his bag and removed one pencil. Ms. Wilson walked around the room, passing out papers.

“Begin.”

Most of the test questions were easy, designed for very, very young children. As the test went on, it did get more difficult, but Damian still knew everything being asked. He filled in every bubble quickly, soon growing bored.

Within an hour, he had finished every question on the test. He glanced around—most of the other children were still working. He looked at Ms. Wilson in question.

She frowned and came over. “Do you have a question, Mr. Wayne?” she asked.

Damian blinked. “I have completed your task,” he said.

She looked down at his test paper. “Did you even read every question?” she asked. “Or did you just guess?”

Damian tsked at her. “I read every question and filled in the circle for each correct answer,” he said.

She picked it up and started looking it over, the frown still on her face. After a moment, she looked back at Damian. “I should have known,” she said. She looked at Jon. “And you, Mr. Kent?”

Jon looked up. “I’m almost done,” he said, blue eyes wide. “But Dami’s smarter than me so he’d be faster.”

Ms. Wilson went back to her desk and took out another packet of papers. “Here,” she said to Damian. “Take this one.”

Damian sighed. “Is school always going to be sitting in a desk and answering inane questions that have no practical application in everyday life?” he asked.

Ms. Wilson blinked. “Your brother Tim asked me the same question,” she said. “Do I have to speak to your fathers about you as well?”

Damian looked down. “No,” he said, and started on the next test.

*

After three hours, the classroom was released for a lunch break, with play time all afternoon in the school yard. Damian ate the lunch Alfred had sent with him without thinking—after the mind-numbing morning, he was grateful to be out of that room.

Tim and Conner joined them after a few minutes. Damian was surprised—most of the older students stayed on the other side of the schoolyard gossiping while the younger students played.

“So,” Conner said. “How was placement?”

“It was pointless and oversimplified,” Damian said.

“Dami took three tests,” Jon said. “But I only had to do two.”

Conner and Tim exchanged a look. “What was Ra’s teaching you?” Tim muttered.

“Grandfather taught me many things,” Damian said. “He ensured that I had the best tutors.”

“This was a mistake,” Conner said. “We were all thinking…”

“Relax,” Tim said. “The only punishment for knowing too much is a lack of social skills.”

“And we don’t need more of that,” Conner said.

Just then, a group of older boys, about Tim’s age, came over. “Hey,” one of them said. “Why are you hanging out with the babies?”

Conner and Tim both glared. “They’re our brothers,” Tim said.

“Oh, you mean your fag dads felt sorry for more kids?” one of the others asked.

Conner and Tim were both on their feet in seconds. Damian stood as well; he didn’t know what the older boys wanted, but he had a feeling there would be a fight soon.

“Fuck off,” Conner said.

“Or what, Kent?” the boy in front asked. He seemed to be the leader of the group. Damian quickly assessed—all of them were large, and no doubt athletic.

“You really want to fight me?” Conner asked.

“Sure, why not?” the leader asked. “Since your brother’s too much of a pussy, I can kick your ass instead.”

“Conner,” Tim said, a warning in his voice.

“Try it,” Conner growled.

“Conner!”

“Hey!”

They all turned as another voice joined in. A tall, muscular girl with long blond hair was walking over, several other girls behind her. Damian didn’t know that Tim’s ears could go red so quickly, but within seconds they were the color of fire.

“What the hell is your problem?” the girl asked.

The leader of the boys glared at her. “Stupid fags,” he muttered. “Need the trannies to look after them.”

Damian barely blinked before the girl had punched the leader of the group across the jaw, knocking him to the ground. He started to get up and she kicked him in the face, blood gushing from his nose.

“You wanna keep fucking with this tranny?” she asked. “Or are you going to leave people alone now?”

The boys exchanged a glance before they scampered off. Their leader stumbled for a moment before getting to his feet and running off as well.

“Um.” Tim’s entire face was red now. “Thanks, Steph.”

The girl, Steph, grinned at him. “All in a day’s work,” she said. “You can thank me later.” She blew a kiss at Tim and turned to walk away, tracking blood as she went.

Tim stared after her, a strange expression on his face. Conner slapped him on the back of the head. “Earth to Tim,” he said.

“Why did you allow that girl to defend you?” Damian asked as they sat down again. “You could have overpowered them all easily.”

“Yeah,” Conner said. “Exactly.”

“It’s hard to hold back superpowers in a fight,” Tim said. “Luckily, Steph doesn’t have any.”

“Steph’s a good friend,” Jon declared. “I like her.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “She’s pretty great.”

Conner rolled his eyes. Damian didn’t understand. “You look…” He struggled for the word.

“He’s in love,” Conner said. “Has been ever since she broke a sword on his shoulder.”

“I am not!” Tim said. “Just…you know. She’s pretty. And badass.”

“Sure,” Conner said.

Damian still didn’t understand, but he decided it didn’t matter much.

*

Damian was not nervous as he waited to receive his class assignment on Friday. He was certain he could perform adequately for his age group; he only hoped his classmates would not be too immature. He had gotten better, with Jon around to ground him, but Jon was admittedly rather precocious.

Ms. Wilson stood up and started telling each child which class to go to. One by one, they all left the room, until only Jon and Damian were left.

“Mr. Kent, grade two,” Ms. Wilson said. Jon jumped up and grabbed his bag before scampering off. Damian looked at Ms. Wilson expectantly.

“Mr. Wayne…” She sighed. “Quite frankly, there was quite the discussion about what to do with you. Your fathers were rather…reluctant to put you much higher than your age group, but it’s clear that the material intended for the second grade is beneath you.”

Damian only stared at her.

“So, for the time being we are starting you in the fourth grade,” she said. “If you find the material isn’t challenging enough, there are after-school programs you are welcome to join. I trust you not to be disruptive.”

Damian nodded and stood up. “Thank you,” he said, and went to begin his schooling.

*

Within two weeks, Damian realized that even being put well ahead of his age group wasn’t going to make this experience any more tolerable.

Everything the teacher said was information Damian already knew; his assignments were finished in a matter of minutes, without any errors. Even the task of observing his classmates and learning everything about them only took him a few days—children of all ages were eager to share everything with anyone who showed interest.

His classmates did look at him with some curiosity at first, since he was the youngest child in the room, but their interest soon abated. None of them were particularly friendly toward him, but none were hostile, either. Damian wasn’t sure if they simply didn’t want to look pathetic by bullying the smallest among them, or if the idea of his brothers was enough to scare them off.

And if he wasn’t building the peer relationships that Kent wanted, well, he at least was not making any enemies, either.

Jon, however, was having a grand time at school. He was also the youngest among his class, but he was far more social than Damian could ever hope. Within a week, he was babbling about every kid in his class and how he was best friends with all of them.

“But don’t worry, Dami,” he said. “You’re my best best friend.”

Damian tsked. “I do not believe you understand the meaning of that word.”

“Sure I do!” Jon said. “Best friend means someone you like more than other people and I like everyone! But I like you the bestest best!”

Damian tried not to roll his eyes. It was…sweet, in a way, even if Jon was awkward in his phrasing.

He supposed that even if he couldn’t make friends at school, at least he would always have Jon.

*

It was a month into his schooling that Damian awoke again, the vestiges of a nightmare still in his mind. The house was silent—at least he hasn’t cried out this time and brought Jon into his room.

Damian tried in vain to get back to sleep, but it was useless. He didn’t have school the next day, so he finally got out of bed and slipped down toward the cave. He wasn’t supposed to be down there on his own, but Gordon would be there, and while Damian didn’t feel close to her, she was at least not irritating.

Gordon glanced up as Damian slipped into the cave and gave him a small smile. “Bad dream?” she asked softly.

Damian nodded slowly. “I cannot sleep,” he said. “May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Gordon said. “Dick won’t be home for hours yet…your father should be back soon, though.”

Damian nodded and took the second seat next to the computers. He watched idly while Gordon worked, calling out instructions and coordinates through her comm. Damian couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation, but it was still soothing to listen to her, keeping his father and Tim safe, still calming to watch her type away at her computers, parsing data almost too quickly for Damian to follow.

But he did follow. He could see her maps of Gotham, the information she had on everyone who lived there, the plans and strategies and statistics and patterns. Damian knew most of it, of course, the rhythm of the city, its people and their habits, the invisible, unspoken timetables the entire place moved by. It was as natural as breathing, as deeply ingrained in his soul as the feeling of a knife in his hand.

 _This is for you, Damian,_ the patterns and lights on Gordon’s monitor seemed to say. _This is Gotham. This is your kingdom._

_This is home._

Damian glanced at Gordon. She didn’t seem to notice, too busy guiding Father and Tim across the city after one of the little moving dots. It was all so natural, so right, to be here, watching the city. And one day, when he was older, when Tim had finished with his Robin costume, Damian would be one of those lights. He would join the rhythm, become part of the pattern.

And that seemed _right._

“Batman, watch your…!”

The dots were moving faster, the lights flashing more furiously. Damian sat up as Gordon started shouting. He tried to hide his worry, tried not to let this break in the pattern frighten him.

It quieted after a few minutes. Gordon was sitting still, listening to something for a few minutes before she spun around.

“They’re coming in,” she said. “And they have a guest.”

Damian stood and followed Gordon to wait at the entrance. Sure enough, it opened and Tim flew in, the Batmobile just behind him.

Father got out of the car, followed by a small hooded figure. Damian stared. Female, teenager—perhaps a year or two older than Tim. Dark clothes, slender figure. Her movements were familiar, somehow—she moved much like Damian did.

Father smiled and removed his cowl. Slowly, the girl lowered her hood.

“Babs, Damian,” Father said. “This is Cassandra Cain…she’s going to be staying here for a while.”

Damian knew the name. He had heard it back in his time with Grandfather. He stared at Cassandra Cain, and she stared back, dark eyes boring into his.

She cocked her head slightly and Damian nodded. She blinked once and he shrugged. A small glance at Father from her, another nod from Damian. A glance at Tim and a jerk of Damian’s head. A look at Gordon and Damian shook his head.

Cassandra nodded and turned to Gordon, studying her before she smiled widely.

“She is a fan of the Batgirl,” Damian said.

Gordon’s brow furrowed. “Um…thank you?” she said.

Cassandra frowned slightly before her eyes widened a bit and she looked down.

“It’s all right,” Gordon said. “It was an accident.” She sighed. “I…miss it, but I have work here.”

Cassandra nodded and knelt down in front of Gordon. She was staring up at her hopefully.

“Are you joining our team?”

Cassandra nodded eagerly.

“Cassandra has helped a great deal in the last few days,” Father said. “She’s known as the Orphan, but…” He hesitated. “Well, I have to talk to Clark, of course, but I don’t think that name is apt anymore.”

Cassandra turned to him, an open, happy look on her face. Father smiled and Tim grinned.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” he said.

“And Gotham needs Batgirl,” Gordon said.

Damian didn’t exactly know what was happening, but he knew that Cassandra’s look of rapture would stay in his memory for the rest of his life.

*

Having Cassandra in the house was not as much of an adjustment as Damian expected.

She was silent, and often avoiding the common areas of the manor. Damian understood that—the household could be very overwhelming at times, and if Jon didn’t insist on Damian sitting next to him at every meal, Damian would avoid those times as well.

In fact, it was a relief to have someone in the house who didn’t chatter away about everything and expect an answer. Cassandra didn’t use words, but Damian knew her language well. It was nice, to seek her out in the moments when his brothers were too loud and overwhelming, and just…sit in silence for a while. Hold a conversation in looks and movements. Just _be_ without any expectation to it.

It was a week or two after Cassandra arrived that she made a gesture Damian knew like it was part of him. He didn’t grin, because that would be undignified, but he stood and followed her downstairs. She took her stance, already thrumming with energy—energy that Damian felt in his own soul.

He attacked, the movement so natural, and she dodged, barely more than a ghost as she struck at him. He ducked beneath her and swept her legs out from under her. She caught herself on her hands, standing on them for a moment before flipping back over, graceful and elegant, much like Dick moved. Damian had to turn quickly to dodge her again, his mind whirling, wondering how to beat the best he’d ever heard of.

_Your opponent is larger than you. She is more highly trained, and has more experience._

Damian turned, leaping up into a counter-attack, swinging his hand as though there was a knife in it.

_She will win._

Cassandra caught his hand and threw him to the floor, standing over him, silent and triumphant.

_But you cannot allow her to defeat you._

Damian kicked up, pushing her down enough to get his legs around her, turning them over. She caught his wrists and threw him again. Damian landed on his back and this time, didn’t rise.

Cassandra stepped over and offered a hand up. Damian took it, smiling.

And she smiled back and touched his hair lightly and Damian wanted nothing more than to hug her.

So he did.

She was surprised, stiffening slightly. This wasn’t part of their language. This wasn’t a part of them.

But she was his sister, so Damian hugged her. And after a moment, she hugged back, pulling him into her chest and letting him feel safe with someone who truly understood.

*

Damian was beginning to feel…not safe, but settled. Secure in his position here, with his father and brothers and even Kent. School wasn’t challenging, but it was least wasn’t dangerous. He didn’t have friends, exactly, but he tolerated some of his classmates. Cassandra was the best sister, knowing what he needed at all times without words.

It was…nice. Comfortable. Damian almost wondered if he was getting too soft, too relaxed, if he had let his guard down too much.

But there were supers around him, always keeping an ear out for danger. He could relax here. Nothing and no one would hurt him.

It was so strange and yet…it felt right.

It was late in the spring, the thrum of summer infecting everyone at school to the point where even Damian had trouble focusing on class. His brothers were more energetic than ever, the longer days boosting their powers to an alarming degree. A few times, when playing—training—with Jon in the grounds, Jon would be so energized that he had to fly around a bit, occasionally pulling Damian up with him. Damian secretly loved it, even though he was a bit concerned that Jon’s strength wouldn’t hold him for any sustained period of time. Super or not, he was just five years old, not fully come into his power yet.

Still, it was always good practice.

Damian woke late one night, with the sinking feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t know what, exactly, but his instincts were honed enough that he was out of bed at once, headed for the Batcave.

He was barely halfway down the stairs when Jon caught up to him, looking very afraid.

“I could hear,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep, so when I can’t sleep and I’m scared sometimes I listen to Daddy and Papa and Dicky and everyone, and I hear they’re okay and I can sleep. But they’re not okay.”

“What happened?” Damian whispered.

“They all went tonight,” Jon said. “The bad guys were all working together and all of them got Daddy and Papa and Dicky and Jason and Timmy and Conner into one place, and they were fighting…they were all yelling, but now they’re all quiet!”

“Are they alive?” Damian asked.

Jon concentrated. “I can hear their heartbeats,” he said. “But they’re real slow.”

“Drugged,” Damian said. “Somehow…your family’s weakness is well-known in criminal circles.” He thought a moment. “Who is not out?”

“Cass is on her pa-trol,” Jon said, and Damian could tell he was trying very hard to sound grown-up. “Babs is in the Cave…I dunno where Kara is.”

“Can you pinpoint them with your superhearing?”

“I think so…I never tried.”

“Time to find out.” He knew it was stupid, knew he shouldn’t bring the baby along, but if their family was in trouble, they needed to go. “Suit up, Superboy. It is time for our first mission.”

Jon stared for a moment before his face grew determined. He dashed back to his room and Damian returned to his own. He pulled the old Robin costume out of his closet—he always hung it up neatly after their play, not wanting to hurt Dick’s feelings by mistreating it. He took a shuddering breath and put it on. It offered no practical protection to his human body, but…

Well, if he was going to be a superhero, he might as well act the part. After a moment, he slipped to his wardrobe and pulled out the knife his mother had left him with.

He met Jon back at the top of the stairs. Jon still looked scared, so Damian hugged him, briefly. “We will triumph,” he said. “We will save them, just as we save Bunbun.”

Jon nodded. They went to the nearest large window and opened it. Jon held Damian around the waist and flew off, following his own senses to their family.

*

Conner groaned as he opened his eyes. Fighting every rogue from Gotham and Metropolis all at once had been too much, and apparently, they hadn’t even won.

There were lights flashing all around him, gaudy pinks and yellows with a glowing green undertone that only made his head hurt more. He felt dizzy, nauseas…weak.

Slowly, Conner focused enough to recognize the green glow as kryptonite, stones in a circle around him. That explained the sickness. He blinked again and realized he was on a raised platform, tied to a chair. In front of him were Batman and Superman, both bound. Superman was gagged, staring forward with horror in his eyes, also surrounded by kryptonite. Batman’s mouth was free, his face as inscrutable as ever under the cowl.

He looked to each side quickly. His brothers were tied up next to him, starting to stir. The room around them was bright, decorated with the lights and various signs and posters, a wretched display if ever he’d seen one. The rogues they’d been fighting were standing behind Batman and Superman, all laughing and jeering at them. Conner looked to Tim, who had just woken. He couldn’t see his brother’s eyes past the lenses of his mask, but Conner knew Tim was terrified.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

Loud, blaring, discordantly cheery music started playing. The rogues started cheering as the Joker strode onto the stage, swanning in front of the captive Robins. He showboated for a bit before he waved his hand. The music died down, as did the applause.

“Welcome!” the Joker called. “One and all! Welcome to everyone’s favorite game—Kill the Robin!”

Another cheer went up and Conner felt sicker than ever. What was the Joker doing? Why not just be done with it?

“Tonight, one of the lucky boys up here is going to die!” the Joker continued. “But which one? We have four lovely young men to choose from, four potential tragedies in tights, just waiting to be chosen by one very special man. And now let’s meet tonight’s lucky killer…” The Joker paused. “Batman!”

Batman glared as two henchmen shoved his chair forward into the spotlight, spinning him so he was half-facing the crowd, half-facing his sons.

“The Caped Crusader here gets to play our game!” the Joker continued. “We’ll introduce each Robin, and he gets to decide which one dies!”

More laughter and applause. Conner closed his eyes, forcing the tears back. He knew how this would end. He knew what Bruce’s choice would be.

And he knew he would accept it to save his brothers.

“And what happens to our lucky losers?” the Joker asked.

There was a shout of curiosity.

“They get the pleasure of watching their brother die,” the Joker said. “And they get to stay with their dear old dads until tomorrow night’s episode!”

Conner looked down and met Superman’s eyes. They were full of tears and Superman struggled with the ropes, fighting the kryptonite all around them.

“Now let’s meet our first contestant!”

The spotlight swung off of Batman onto Nightwing, sitting rigid in his chair. Nightwing looked at Batman with an equally blank expression, even though Conner was certain they were conveying quite a lot of information to each other without words or expressions.

“Robin number one,” the Joker said. “The Boy Wonder…the Nightwing. Our lovely little sunshine child. Tell me, Nightwing, why should Batman let you live another day?”

The Joker tugged the gag out of Nightwing’s mouth. Nightwing looked at Batman, not wavering for a second. “Choose me now,” he said. “You can still save the others, so choose me.”

The gag went back in his mouth and the Joker punched him across the face. Nightwing’s head snapped to the side, a bruise blossoming over his cheek, and that wasn’t right, he shouldn’t be hurt, not Conner’s big brother who was always strong and unbreakable…

“Robin number two!” The Joker moved to the Red Hood. And why wasn’t Jason doing something, the kryptonite didn’t affect him, he should have already broken free and started shooting…

“The Red Hood…our adorable little street rat! This one’s already died once so it might be a bit boring to watch, but there’s something to be said for nostalgia! So, Red Hood…why should Batman save you this time?”

Jason was trembling, his breathing too quick, and Conner realized that he was paralyzed with panic. And that wasn’t right, wasn’t right at all. Sure, he and Jason didn’t get along most of the time, but Jason was never afraid, not like this, he had never shown weakness like this...

The Joker was standing next to him now. Conner tried not to look at him, suddenly aware of how exposed he was, up here without a mask. He didn’t look at Batman either. He didn’t want to see the decision he knew had already been made.

“Robin number three,” the Joker said. “Superboy…the forgotten middle child. Certainly momma’s favorite, but what about dear old dad? Is he going to stick his neck out for the kid who couldn’t even be Robin for more than a year?” The gag was yanked out and Conner took a few deep breaths. “So, Robin number three…why shouldn’t he kill you?”

Conner swallowed and looked at Superman for a long moment before turning to Batman. “We all know you’re going to choose me,” he said. “So get it over with and don’t make them suffer anymore.”

He couldn’t see Batman’s eyes under the lenses, couldn’t see any expression past the mask. He never could. The Joker shoved the gag back in his mouth and moved on.

“And Robin number four!” the Joker called.  “Our little genius…the one smart enough to put on some pants! Daddy’s current favorite, never does anything wrong, can outwit all of us!” Tim’s gag was pulled out. Tim was as still as Dick, as silent and expressionless. “Robin number four,” the Joker said. “Why should Batman choose someone else?”

Tim swallowed a few times and looked at Batman. “You won’t lose anything,” he said. “You can choose me, and you’ll be fine without me.”

The gag went back in his mouth and the Joker stepped forward again.

“We’ve heard from our contestants!” he called. The rogues were jeering again, the cacophony pounding in Conner’s head, the sickness starting to overwhelm him. He hoped he would pass out before Batman made his choice and stay that way until it was all over. “So, now it’s time to find out who Daddy loves the least!” The Joker turned his wide, cruel smile back on Batman. “So, Batsy, who’s it gonna be? After that disgusting display of brotherly love, they all seem eager for you to make a sacrifice!”

Superman screamed behind his gag and one of the rogues hit him hard, knocking him sideways to the ground, helpless and surrounded by poison.

“Mommy doesn’t get a vote here!” the Joker called. “But maybe if he’s lucky he’ll get to play tomorrow. But tonight, it’s up to Batman, and Batman alone, to decide which of his precious boys dies!”

Batman remained silent, his eyes on his sons. Conner couldn’t look at him, couldn’t watch his mouth form words, couldn’t make Batman look into his eyes as he sent him to his execution. Bruce was a jerk to him, always had been. They clashed, they fought, they had never worked as Batman and Robin, Conner had always been Clark’s son, Clark’s baby, let Bruce keep his favorites, let Bruce throw away the son he never wanted for the ones he did. Conner closed his eyes, waiting for the word…

It never came. The silence stretched on for seconds, then minutes. The rogues started muttering, impatient and bloodthirsty.

“Come now, Batman!” the Joker said. “It’s not a hard decision…surely there’s one of them you can’t stand!”

“Please…”

How did Batman sound that desperate, that broken? How was he even debating this?

Before Conner could consider too hard, there was a crash from somewhere next to him, followed by several shouts. He opened his eyes to see a small red and blue blur darting around, hitting as many rogues as possible. A second later, someone was untying him. Conner stood up, pulling the gag out even as he stumbled, still too weak to do much.

“Stay standing.” That was Damian, his small child’s voice trying to sound strong.

Conner staggered forward, out of the stone surrounding him, and was caught in someone’s arms. “With me.” That was Batman. “We need to get them out of trouble.”

Conner looked up, struggling to stand, even with his father’s help. Batman pulled him away from the circle, but there was so much kryptonite in the room, so much noise and confusion…

Batman finally gave up and put Conner down, going to help the next one. Conner fell to his knees, shaking badly. It took a moment before Superman caught him, pulling him close. “I’ve got you,” he said.

Conner managed to open his eyes just in time to see Jon fall, the kryptonite clearly too much for his tiny body. Damian was next to him almost at once, shielding Jon with his body, a knife in hand, and it was so surreal, seeing the ghost of the first Robin standing before all of Gotham’s worst, nothing between them and him but a dagger.

Conner pulled away from Superman’s hold, intent on getting to his brother. The others seemed to have the same idea, fighting in spite of the pain, trying to reach Damian, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as Batman had ensured Tim was breathing, he was in front of Damian, hitting everyone who came in range. Damian turned to guard his father’s back, moving as fluidly as any assassin, his training clearly not forgotten.

The room was still spinning. Conner barely saw Dick grab Jon and pull him away from the fighting before he finally, mercifully fainted.

*

This was a bad plan.

This was a very bad plan, and it was only now, fighting back to back with his father, that Damian realized just how bad a plan it was.

The problem was, they hadn’t planned. Damian had simply pulled his baby brother into danger, like it was just one of their games, failing to consider that they would be fighting multiple, much stronger opponents, and the fact that four Kryptonians couldn’t defeat them meant that Jon and Damian probably couldn’t either.

He could see the others huddled together. Conner, Jon and Tim were unconscious, but Dick and Kent were still fighting to stay awake, to protect the others. Todd was still on the platform, sitting completely still and silent, and why wasn’t he helping, he was one of the few who could…

No. Focus. Damian stabbed out with his dagger, hitting someone, he couldn’t even focus on his targets. The precision was gone; all that mattered now was survival.

With a jolt, Damian realized that he was afraid, truly afraid, and that wasn’t right, he couldn’t be afraid, he had to keep fighting, had to protect his family.

_You are weak, Damian. You must not let your cowardice stop you from doing what needs to be done._

He growled, forcing his grandfather’s voice out of his head. He was strong. He would win.

It took him a moment to re-assess. There weren’t as many opponents as he had feared—still more than he and Batman could take alone, but if Todd would get up, or if the Kryptonians could get moving again, they would be able to win. As it was, well, Damian was willing to fight until something changed.

He could feel Father tense at his back, no doubt calculating the same odds he was. There was only so long they could keep fighting, keep trying to keep the villains away from those who couldn’t fight. For a bare moment, Father turned, expression unreadable under his cowl as he looked at Damian for a moment. Damian understood anyway—he wasn’t strong enough, and Father was disappointed.

Before he could give in to too much despair, there was another crash as the other skylight blew out, followed by every poster on the wall being set on fire. Damian looked up to see Supergirl floating above the skylight, far enough away that the kryptonite didn’t affect her. As the rest of the room looked up, Batgirl dropped in, Supergirl holding her line, and Damian knew with Cassandra there, they were saved.

She leaped into the fray at once, moving with the grace and strength Damian admired so much. He blinked and shook himself, and then went after her to help. He didn’t look for Father again—no doubt he would be fighting as well, and Damian needed to focus.

Half their opponents were down, the other half looking like they might seriously consider retreat, when there was finally, mercifully, the sound of a gunshot. Damian turned to see the Red Hood finally standing up, Supergirl at his side, gun in his hand. Damian couldn’t see past the mask, of course, but something about Todd’s body spoke of a renewed strength, or at least determination.

The bullet was followed by another shot of Supergirl’s heat vision, and the remaining villains were scattering, clearly unwilling to fight five standing opponents. Damian watched them all retreat, his heart pounding far too quickly.

The moment the room was clear, Father turned. “Red Hood, Batgirl, Robin, gather the kryptonite and get it out of here, now!”

Damian moved as though in a dream, helping Todd and Cassandra gather the stones. Once they had it all, Todd took it all and walked out of the room, nodding once at Father.

As soon as the room was clear, the others on the floor started breathing easier. Kent was up in a moment, hurrying over. “Are you all right?” he asked Damian.

“I am unhurt,” Damian said, ashamed at how his voice was shaking.

Father turned on him, his expression suddenly clear. “What were you thinking?!” he snapped. “You aren’t trained for this, you aren’t ready to be out here! And you brought your brother into danger and almost got both of you killed!”

“Batman,” Kent said, an edge in his voice.

“I am sorry, Father,” Damian said. “We were scared and did not know if you would return…we only wanted to help.”

“You help by staying where we know you’re safe so we’re not worrying over you,” Father said. “Now…”

“Batman!” Kent said, louder this time. “They’re alive and mostly unhurt…I think you can save the lecturing for tomorrow. Right now, we need to get the kids home.”

Father glared at Kent for a moment. “Can you fly?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kent said. “Supergirl, get Jon, Nightwing, get Red Robin.” He went over and lifted Conner, who was just starting to stir, and flew out the window, the other two following.

“Batgirl, Robin, come on.” Father turned and led them out, through a dizzying series of streets until they reached the Batmobile. Damian got in, guilt and fear and relief overwhelming him.

Cassandra sat next to him and pulled him into a hug. To Damian’s immense surprise, she started to whisper to him. “Fought well. Family safe.”

Damian nodded slowly. Tomorrow, Father would lecture him and Jon about being reckless, about how they were too young to enter this world. Tomorrow, Father would ground them for days to prove a point and take away the Robin costume until Damian had earned it.

Tomorrow, there might be more pain.

But tonight, he would be pulled into the master bedroom with the rest of his family, to hold each other safe until they all slept. Tonight, he would be loved and fussed over until everyone was satisfied he truly was all right.

Tonight…family safe.

Father glanced back at them, that strange, unplaceable expression on his face, and with a jolt, Damian finally knew that it was love.


End file.
